The Set of Turquoise

Thomas Bailey Aldrich

Act I, Scene I

Characters: Count of Lara, a poor nobleman; Beatrice, his wife Miriam, a maid, who personates a page.

Scene: Count of Lara's villa. A balcony overlooking the garden.

Lara.

The third moon of our marriage, Beatrice!
It hangs in the still twilight, large and full,
Like a ripe orange.

Beatrice.

Like an orange? yes,
But not so red, Count. Then it has no stem.
Now, as 'tis hidden by those drifts of cloud,
With one thin edge just glimmering through the dark,
'Tis like some strange, rich jewel of the east,
In the cleft side of a mountain.
And that reminds me—speaking of jewels—love,
There is a set of turquoise at Malan's,
Ear-drops and bracelets and a necklace—ah!
If they were mine.

Lara.

And so they should be, dear,
Were I Aladdin, and had slaves o' the lamp
To fetch me ingots. Why, then, Beatrice,
All Persia's turquoise-quarries should be yours,
Although your hand is heavy now with gems
That tear my lips when I would kiss its whiteness.
Oh! so you pout! Why make that full-blown rose
Into a bud again?

Beatrice.

You love me not.

Lara.

A coquette's song.

Beatrice.

I sing it.

Lara.

A poor song.

Beatrice.

You love me not, or love me over-much,
Which makes you jealous of the gems I wear!
You do not deck me as becomes our state,
For fear my grandeur should besiege the eyes
Of Monte, Clari, Marcus, and the rest—
A precious set! You're jealous, sir!

Lara.

Not I.
I love you.

Beatrice.

Why, that is as easy said
As any three short words; takes no more breath
To say, "I hate you." What, sir, have I lived
Three times four weeks your wedded loyal wife,
And do not know your follies? I will wager
(If I could trap his countship into this!)
The rarest kisses I know how to give
Against the turquoise, that within a month
You'll grow so jealous—and without a cause,
Or with a reason thin as window glass—
That you will ache to kill me!

Lara.

Will you so?
And I—let us clasp hands and kiss on it.

Beatrice.

Clasp hands, Sir Trustful; but not kiss—nay, nay!
I will not pay my forfeit till I lose.

Lara.

And I'll not lose the forfeit.

Beatrice.

We shall see.

[Exit Beatrice.

Lara.

She has as many fancies as the wind
Which now, like slumber, lies 'mong spicy isles,
Then suddenly blows white furrows in the sea!
Lovely and dangerous is my leopardess.
To-day, low-lying at my feet; to-morrow,
With great eyes flashing, threatening doleful death—
With strokes like velvet! She's no common clay,
But fire and dew and marble. I'll not throw
So rare a wonder in the lap o' the world!
Jealous? I am not jealous—though they say
Some sorts of love breed jealousy. And yet,
I would I had not wagered; it implies
Doubt. If I doubted? Pshaw! I'll walk awhile
And let the cool air fan me. 'Twas not wise.
'Tis only Folly with its cap and bells
Can jest with sad things. She seemed earnest, too.
What if, to pique me, she should overstep
The pale of modesty, and give bold eyes
(I could not bear that, nay, not even that!)
To Marc or Claudian? Why, such things have been
And no sin dreamed of. I will watch her close.
There, now, I wrong her.

Yet if she,
To win the turquoise of me, if she should—
O cursèd jewels! Would that they were hung
About the glistening neck of some mermaid
A thousand fathoms underneath the sea!

[A Page crosses the garden.

That page again! 'Tis twice within the week
The supple-waisted, pretty-ankled knave
Has crossed my garden at this self-same hour,
Trolling a canzonetta with an air
As if he owned the villa. Why, the fop!
He might have doffed his bonnet as he passed.
I'll teach him better if he comes again.
What does he at the villa? O! perchance
He comes in the evening when his master's out,
To lisp soft romance in the ready ear
Of Beatrice's dressing-maid; but then
She has one lover. Now I think she's two:
This gaudy popinjay would make the third,
And that's too many for an honest girl!
I'll ask the Countess—no, I'll not do that;
She'd laugh at me; and vow by the Madonna
This varlet was some noble in disguise,
Seeking her favor. Then I'd let the light
Of heaven through his doublet—I would—yes,
That is, I would, were I a jealous man:
But then I'm not.

When he comes out again
I'll stop him, question him, and know the truth.
I cannot sit in the garden of a night
But he glides by me in his jaunty dress,
Like a fantastic phantom!—never looks
To the right nor left, but passes gayly on,
As if I were a statue. Soft, he comes!
I'll make him speak, or kill him; then, indeed,
It were unreasonable to ask it. Soh!
I'll speak him gently at the first, and then—

The Page enters by a gate in the villa-garden, and walks past the

Count.

Ho! pretty page, who owns you?

Page.

No one now.
Once Signor Juan, but I am his no more.

Lara.

What, then, you stole from him?

Page.

O! no, sir, no.
He had so many intrigues on his hands,
There was no sleep for me nor night nor day.
Such carrying of love-favors and pink notes!
He's gone abroad now, to break other hearts
And so I left him.

Lara.

A frank knave.

Page.

To-night
I've done his latest bidding—

Lara.

As you should—

Page.

A duty wed with pleasure—'twas to take
A message to a countess all forlorn,
In yonder villa.

Lara. [aside].

Why! that villa's mine!
A message to a countess all forlorn?
In yonder villa?

Page.

Ay, sir. You can see
The portico among the mulberries,
Just to the left, there.

Lara.

Ay, I see, I see.
A pretty villa. And the lady's name?

Page.

The lady's name, sir?

Lara.

Ay, the lady's name.

Page.

O! that's a secret which I cannot tell.

Lara.

No? but you shall, though, or I'll strangle you!
In my strong hands your slender neck would snap
Like a fragile pipe-stem.

Page.

You are choking me!
O! loose your grasp, sir!

Lara.

Then the name! the name!

Page.

Countess of Lara.

Lara.

Not her dressing-maid?

Page.

No, no, I said the mistress, not the maid.

Lara.

And then you lied. I never saw two eyes
So wide and frank but they'd a pliant tongue
To shape a lie for them. Say you are false!
Tell me you lie, and I will make you rich,
I'll stuff your cap with ducats twice a year.

Page.

Well, then—I lie.

Lara.

Ay, now you lie, indeed!
I see it in the cunning of your eyes;
Night cannot hide the Satan leering there.
Only a little lingering fear of heaven
Holds me from dirking you between the ribs!

Page.

What would you have? I will say nothing, then.

Lara.

Say everything, and end it! Here is gold.
You brought a billet to the Countess—well?
What said the billet?

Page.

Take away your hand.
And, by St. Mary, I will tell you all.
There, now, I breathe. You will not harm me, sir?
Stand six yards off, or I will not a word.
It seems the Countess promised Signor Juan
A set of turquoise—

Lara.

Turquoise? Ha! that's well.

Page.

Just so—wherewith my master was to pay
Some gaming debts; but yester-night the cards
Tumbled a golden mountain at his feet;
And ere he sailed, this morning, Signor Juan
Gave me a perfumed, amber-tinted note,
For Countess Lara, which, with some adieus,
Craved her remembrance morning, noon, and night;
Her prayers while gone, her smiles when he returned;
Then told his sudden fortune with the cards,
And bade her keep the jewels. That is all.

Lara.

All? Is that all? 'T has only cracked my heart!
A heart, I know, of little, little worth—
An ill-cut ruby, scarred and scratched before,
But now quite broken! I have no heart, then;
Men should not have, when they are wronged like this.
Out of my sight, thou demon of bad news!

[Exit Lara.

Page.

I did not think 't would work on him like that.
How pale he grew! Alack! I fear some ill
Will come of this. I'll to the Countess now,
And warn her of his madness.

[Exit Page.

Act I, Scene II

Scene: Beatrice's chamber. Beatrice sits on a fauteuil in the attitude of listening.

Beatrice.

Hist! that's his step. Miriam, place the lights
Farther away; keep you behind the screen,
Breathing no louder than a lily does;
For if you stir or laugh 'twill ruin all.

Miriam.

Laugh! I am faint with terror.

Beatrice.

Then be still.
Move not for worlds until I touch the bell,
Then do the thing I told you. Hush! his step
Sounds in the corridor, and I'm asleep!

Lara enters. He approaches within a few yards of Beatrice, pauses, and looks at her.

Lara.

Asleep!—and guilt can slumber! Guilt can lie
Down-lidded and soft-breathed like innocence!
Hath dreams as sweet as childhood's—who can tell?
Were I an artist, and did wish to paint
A devil to perfection, I'd not limn
A hornèd monster, with a leprous skin,
Red-hot from Pandemonium—not I.
But with my delicatest tints, I'd paint
A woman in the glamour of her youth,
All garmented with loveliness and mystery!
How fair she is! Her beauty glides between
Me and my purpose, like a pleading angel.

[Beatrice sighs.

Her dream's broke, like a bubble, in a sigh.
She'll waken soon, and that—that must not be!
I could not kill her if she looked at me.
I loved her, loved her, by the saints, I did—
I trust she prayed before she fell asleep!

Beatrice [springing up].

So, you are come—your dagger in your hand?
Your lips compressed and blanchèd, and your hair
Tumbled wildly all about your eyes,
Like a river-god's? O love, you frighten me!
And you are trembling. Tell me what this means.

Lara.

Oh! nothing, nothing—I did think to write
A note to Juan, to Signor Juan, my friend
(Your cousin and my honorable friend);
But finding neither ink nor paper here,
I thought to scratch it with my dagger's point
Upon your bosom, Madam! That is all.

Beatrice.

You've lost your senses!

Lara.

Madam, no, I've found 'em!

Beatrice.

Then lose them quickly, and be what you were.

Lara.

I was a fool, a dupe—a happy dupe.
You should have kept me in my ignorance;
For wisdom makes us wretched, king and clown.
Countess of Lara, you are false to me!

Beatrice.

Now, by the saints—

Lara.

Now, by the saints, you are!

Beatrice.

Upon my honor—

Lara.

On your honor? fie!
Swear by the ocean's feathery froth, for that
Is not so light a substance.

Beatrice.

Hear me, love!

Lara.

Lie to that marble Io! I am sick
To the heart with lying.

Beatrice.

You've the ear-ache, sir,
Got with too much believing.

Lara.

Beatrice,
I came to kill you.

Beatrice.

Kiss me, Count, you mean!

Lara.

If killing you be kissing you, why yes.

Beatrice. Ho! come not near me with such threatening looks,

Stand back there, if you love me, or have loved!

[As Lara advances, Beatrice retreats to the table and rings a small hand-bell. Miriam, in the dress of a page, enters from behind the screen and steps between them.

Lara [starting back].

The Page? now, curse him! What? no! Miriam?
Hold! 'twas at twilight, in the villa-garden,
At dusk, too, on the road to Mantua;
But here the light falls on you, man or maid!
Stop now; my brain's bewildered. Stand you there,
And let me touch you with incredulous hands!
Wait till I come, nor vanish like a ghost.
If this be Juan's page, why, where is Miriam?
If this be Miriam, where's—by all the saints,
I have been tricked!

Miriam [laughing].

By two saints, with your leave!

Lara.

The happiest fool in Italy, for my age!
And all the damning tales you fed me with,
You Sprite of Twilight, Imp of the old Moon!—

Miriam [bowing].

Were arrant lies as ever woman told;
And though not mine, I claim the price for them—
This cap stuffed full of ducats twice a year!

Lara.

A trap! a trap that only caught a fool!
So thin a plot, I might have seen through it.
I've lost my reason!

Miriam.

And your ducats!

Beatrice.

And
A certain set of turquoise at Malan's!